The Widening of God's Mercy

Richard and Christopher Hays's terrible book on same-sex relations

Richard B. Hays, who died early this year, was one of the great New Testament scholars of his generation. His dissertation on the “faith of Jesus Christ” opened up fresh readings of many passages in Paul; he made readers more attentive to “echoes” of Scripture in Paul and the Gospels; his Moral Vision of the New Testament provided a balanced overview of New Testament ethics. Some years ago, I was on a panel with Hays at some conference or other and found him serious, generous, unfailingly gentlemanly.

That made it all the more painful to learn of his final book, The Widening of God’s Mercy, co-authored with his son Christopher, who teaches at Fuller. It’s a book about same-sex relations. It doesn’t focus “on the endlessly repeated exegetical arguments about half a dozen isolated texts” but instead sketches a framework for understanding God “as a mysterious, dynamic, personal power who can and does change his mind and reveal new and surprising facets of his will,” who in particular “repeatedly reveals an expansive mercy that embraces ever wider circles of people, including those previously deemed in some way alien or unworthy” (206).

This is not a good book – that is, not a well-argued book, and also not a book that yields good fruit. Hays and Hays pick up on some genuine biblical themes: God does regret creation, does “change His mind,” does relent from judgment. It’s true that there’s a “widening” of God’s scope as the biblical story progresses. But in both detail and in the general sketch the authors get much wrong; and in the end, they either fail to prove their point or prove far, far more than they intend to.

Details: They characterize some things as “changes” that aren’t. The daughters Zelophehad ask Moses for an inheritance, since their father died without a male heir (Num 27). Yahweh grants the request. This is a change because “in ancient Israel, inheritance worked on a patrilineal system: Property was passed from father to son” (52). How do they know? They cite Deuteronomy 21:15-17 (a law given after the daughters of Zelophehad episode!), which says the firstborn son gets a double share (53) – a passage that obviously assumes there is a son and says nothing at all about son-less families.

They claim there’s a change from Exodus 20:24, which allows sacrifice wherever Yahweh is remembered, and Deuteronomy 12, which limits sacrifice to a single location. The latter passage is indeed a change, but has to do with Israel’s entry into the land and the establishment of a permanent sanctuary. It’s explicitly said to be a change.

Yahweh “widens the borders” by welcoming Gentiles and foreigners into Israel. As the authors themselves indicate, this isn’t really a change either, since Yahweh always intended to bless Gentiles through Abraham’s seed. That promise is gradually worked out throughout the Old Testament. There’s no “change of mind,” but a realization of a fixed purpose. Isaiah’s claim that the Lord’s house is “a house of prayer for all peoples” (Isa 56:7) would have “scandalized” the original hearers (104). But why? Solomon’s dedication prayer already envisions Gentiles praying toward the house (1 Kings 8). If Judahites of Isaiah’s day were scandalized, it’s not because Yahweh expanded His vision, but because Israel had contracted hers.

Presumptions about Scripture’s coherence are, of course, implicated here. In the authors’ view, the Bible includes an ongoing debate about “rules, boundaries, and theologies,” which are “repeatedly re-thought” (3-4). With this presumption in mind, they set things in opposition that aren’t actually in opposition. Whatever looks like a surface contradiction is taken as a contradiction, without further inquiry. Leviticus says eunuch priests can eat sacrificial food (21:22) but Deuteronomy forbids eunuchs from entering the congregation (23:1; pp. 99-100). But what is the congregation? Are we even sure Leviticus 21:21-22 is talking about eunuchs (the term used is me’um, “defect”)? With a moment’s reflection, one can think of several ways to see harmony between the passages – unless one is predisposed to look for contradictions.

The argument as a whole doesn’t prove what the authors hope. They acknowledge that all the texts that speak to homosexuality “view homosexual sex negatively” (206). That destroys down the analogy they want to draw: The Bible does not uniformly regard Gentiles, or women heirs, or eunuchs, or eating unclean foods uniformly negatively. When God does change the rules, the Bible indicates God changes the rules. The Bible never indicates any such thing with regard to same-sex sex.

They have a ready answer: The Bible sets a trajectory of expanding mercy, and including gays and lesbians in the fold is in keeping with the penumbra, if not the letter, of Scripture. But this argument proves far more than the authors would like. Remarkably, though Richard Hays talks about “repenting” of his earlier, more conservative statements on homosexuality (223), the book doesn’t say anything at all about repentance for sexual sins. I assume they don’t think gays and lesbians are guilty of sexual sin. But then why limit the argument to same-sex relations? Why not welcome unrepentant murderers and thieves and pedophiles and adulterers? Why not invent new liturgies for married thruples and quadruples and decaduples? Shouldn’t we listen patiently those who find “their identity indelibly stamped by” (224) the compulsion to rape? Why isn’t God’s mercy wide enough for them – regardless of whether they repent?

In the end, Hays and Hays pull their punches. I mean, if you’re going to mercy sin out of existence (notably, there’s no entry for “sin” in the index), have the courage of your convictions and go all the way.